


better late than never

by andreaphobia



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Denial, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, mixers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: Sometimes, you can't see what's right in front of you.





	better late than never

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benicemurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/gifts).



> Surprise, Rosaria! I'm your secret Santa. ;) Hope you like it.
> 
> I've been reading a ton of BL manga on Pixiv, and one of them inspired me to write this. If the story seems familiar, that would be why. (Thank you for the inspiration, Mika-sensei!)

 

 

 

Makoto took one look at the grade on the quiz sheet that had been handed back to him, and then slumped over his desk, allowing his head to land on it with a ‘bonk’. The sound that this made was hollow, and Makoto thought that this was fitting, since only an empty-headed person could _possibly_ flunk out of an undergrad breadth course.

As he lay there, trying to decide if it was worth waiting until the end of the day to cry or if it’d be okay to shed a couple of tears now, a shadow fell over him.

“No good, huh?” Kisumi asked, sympathetically.

Slowly, Makoto raised his head to stare back at Kisumi. He was too nice of a person to point fingers, but honestly speaking, if his current situation could be said to be anyone’s fault, that person would be Kisumi. He was the one who’d had the “brilliant” idea of having them all sign up for the same breadth course. To be fair, his intentions had been good—if they were all in the same class together, organizing study groups would be a breeze—but unfortunately, that didn’t account for natural ineptitude.

In the end Makoto simply decided not to say anything at all, and just looked forlornly back at the abysmal grade on his art history pop quiz. By this time, Asahi had strolled over; he leaned ostentatiously over Makoto’s desk to take a look at how he’d done, and then grinned.

“Cheer up—it could be worse! Could be a single-digit number.”

To illustrate, he held up his own quiz, although it had to be said that this did not comfort Makoto in the slightest. Instead of acknowledging their status as partners in failure, he looked over Asahi’s shoulder, as though he was expecting someone.

“Where’s Haru?”

Asahi rolled his eyes. “Guess.”

Makoto took this to mean that Haru was off dealing with yet another confession, and felt his heart sank in his chest. It’d happened often enough to become almost comical, a kind of running joke between the four of them, but privately Makoto didn’t find it that amusing. He’d lost count of how long he’d been carrying a quiet torch for Haru, but it was definitely a length of time that you could measure in years. It wasn’t even something he really actively thought about anymore; it was just the backdrop of his life. It simply surrounded him, like the air he breathed. It was a part of him.

Because of that, he never liked to dwell on the revolving door of girls and their myriad confessions to Haru. He was afraid and envious, in equal measures—afraid that Haru might leave him behind, and envious that even strangers were able to speak the words he’d never dared to.

Okay, so Haru had yet to actually _go_ on dates with anyone, but that was no guarantee for the future. For his part, at least, Makoto remained keenly aware that there was nothing to stop Haru from one day accepting.

And even if he did, was there anything wrong with it? That was a question he couldn’t bring himself to answer honestly. He couldn’t lay a claim on Haru’s heart; frankly speaking, he barely even knew his own. The fact remained that, one day, he’d have to let go, and that was all there was to it.

He hadn’t said a word, but some piece of this inner turmoil must have shown on his face, because Kisumi was giving him a curious look.

“Makoto, is something the matter?” he asked, in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice.

Makoto opened his mouth to answer, but at that very moment Haru, having apparently returned from the war, appeared at Asahi’s side. He looked hassled, as he often did after his encounters.

Makoto shut his mouth again, while Asahi cheerfully slung an arm over Haru’s shoulders.

“Well? How’d it go?”

Face impassive, Haru brushed his arm off. “Turned her down.”

The cold knot that had been slowly tightening in Makoto’s chest immediately undid itself, and he let out a slow breath (which, fortunately, went unnoticed).

Asahi was unimpressed. “Are you kidding me? You turned down _Fujiwara_ for a date?” He shook his head pityingly. “Haru, you need to get your eyes checked.”

“You mean Fujiwara-san from the tennis club?” Kisumi, who seemed to know everyone worth knowing in their year, thought for a moment before shrugging. “Well, maybe she isn’t Haru’s type.”

“She’s drop-dead _gorgeous_ ,” said Asahi dismissively. “She’s any red-blooded young man’s type.”

Haru, who was studiously ignoring this side conversation, made direct eye contact with Makoto. “How was it?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh…” Right, the quiz. Smiling sheepishly, Makoto rubbed the back of his neck. “Just as bad as last time, I’m afraid. I’ll go over the answers in the library later.”

“I’ll go with you,” Haru immediately offered.

Makoto smiled wider. “Thanks, Haru. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

There was an odd moment during which Haru looked almost as though he wanted to say something. However, Asahi gave a sudden wheeze, and they both looked at him, startled. He was massaging his side and glaring at Kisumi, who had apparently just elbowed him.

“ _What?_ ”

Kisumi gave him a catlike smile.

“Shouldn’t you be joining them, Mr. Single Digit Score?”

“What, to study?” Asahi scoffed. “No way. I’ve got a party to be at tonight.” He grinned at Makoto. “Speaking of which—are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

Makoto sighed, then gave him a rueful smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. I can’t fail this class, so I really need to get this under control.” Besides—though he didn’t bother voicing this thought—he’d rather spend the evening alone with Haru in a quiet place than at a raucous party full of strangers, anyway.

Asahi shrugged airily. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you all at the mixer tomorrow, though, got it?” He waggled a finger at them all in warning. “No backing out, now, or the numbers won’t match up!”

“See you at the cafe later!” Kisumi called after him, as he left.

Makoto resisted the urge to groan and put his head in his hands. He’d completely forgotten about the mixer, which Asahi—demonstrating quite stunning powers of persuasion—had somehow convinced or blackmailed all of them into agreeing to attend, and that even included Haru. All mixers were trying ordeals, it was true, but _especially_ the ones for which he had to carve time out of his busy studying schedule, when he was already behind in several of his classes.

Despairing internally, he looked to Kisumi. Kisumi had a mildly perturbed expression, but if Makoto had been hoping to find a kindred spirit, he was quite mistaken.

“Ahh, right.” Kisumi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’d almost forgotten. I went to one just last week, so it slipped my mind.” He smiled. “It’ll be fun, though, won’t it, Makoto? A chance to let our hair loose and enjoy ourselves!”

“I don’t have any hair to let loose,” Haru said, looking vaguely troubled. After a moment of silence, he added, “What do people do at mixers, anyway?”

Giving in, Makoto put his head in his hands. At the rate things were going, he’d be lucky to come out the other side of the weekend in one piece.

*

The weird thing was that he never even saw it coming.

What made it even more surprising was the fact that, unlike some of the individuals in his friend group, he was normally quite perceptive when it came to stuff like this. “Emotionally adept”, one might have called him, if one were so inclined.

But everyone had their blind spots, even Tachibana Makoto. And it just so happened that his blind spot had a name, and was seated at the library table across from him, dutifully reciting the defining characteristics of impressionism while Makoto expended every ounce of energy he had just to stay awake.

Turning a page, Haru read aloud, “‘Delicate yet visible brush strokes’.”

“Uh-huh,” Makoto replied muzzily. His head felt very heavy, and also the room seemed to be growing darker. Possibly this was because his eyes were slowly drifting shut.

Haru frowned. “Makoto, are you listening?”

“Wuh?” Makoto shook his head sharply, and then blinked a few times. “Oh… yeah. Sorry.”

Haru sighed, and set the textbook to one side. “Maybe we should stop here for tonight.”

Guiltily, Makoto wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth. “Sorry, Haru… I really appreciate you taking the time to study with me like this.”

“It’s okay.” Haru shrugged. “I want to help.”

“Right.” Makoto felt the backs of his ears start to prickle with unwanted heat, and quickly looked down at his lap. “Um… thanks.”

There was a slightly awkward moment of silence. Then, when Makoto ventured a look upwards, he caught the little lilt at the corner of Haru’s mouth that he knew approximated a smile—the one that he liked to think, when no one was around to judge him, was reserved specially for him—and found himself smiling back without meaning to.

He coughed and turned his face aside in embarrassment, desperately casting his thoughts around for something that they could talk about that wasn’t the list of differences between Monet and Matisse.

“Um… so…” Remembering the conversation from earlier that day, he gave Haru another nervous little glance. “Fujiwara-san, huh?”

Haru’s expression went rigid, and Makoto immediately regretted mentioning it. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to! I only—I mean, I was just a little curious—”

Bit by bit, Haru’s face loosened up, although his expression remained strange and closed-off. “I said I turned her down.” His eyes dropped to the table. “We’ve hardly ever spoken, anyway.”

“Haha… that makes sense, I guess.” Makoto caught himself drumming his fingers on the table nervously, and forced himself to stop, although he couldn’t seem to stop himself from digging deeper into the subject. “…Asahi said she’s pretty, though.”

Haru’s frown was slight, but not so slight that Makoto didn’t notice it. He bit his lip for a moment, and then looked up again. “Do _you_ want to date her?”

“Who, me?” Makoto chuckled,. “No, not at all, I was just… I mean, he just mentioned it, that’s all. Besides, she asked _you_ out, not me.”

Haru sat back in his chair. “But I already have you,” he said with finality, looking for all the world as though that settled the matter.

A sharp pain pierced Makoto’s chest, and it was a moment before he was steady enough to speak. “Y-yeah, but… you know… we’re just, like, childhood friends. Not like… boyfriend-girlfriend.” He forced a laugh; it tasted bitter on his tongue. “Or boyfriend-boyfriend, I guess.” He hardly even knew what he was saying anymore, but his mouth had a mind of its own; it seemed determined to force the issue to the surface. “Anyway, I just mean… so many girls ask you out, it almost feels like a waste, you know? Maybe you should give it a try, one of these days.”

To this, Haru said nothing at all. He only stared at Makoto, and his eyes seemed faraway, focused on something that Makoto could not see. The silence stretched on, more and more uncomfortable by the moment, and Makoto had no idea what to do. Finally, under the pretense of copying some notes down, he pulled the textbook over and started scribbling into his notebook, and in the most casual voice he could manage, asked:

“Say, Haru… I’ve been wondering for a while, but… do you have anyone you like?”

He kept his attention focused on the words he was mindlessly copying, and in fact very nearly missed Haru’s answer entirely, it was so quiet:

“—Makoto.”

For a moment, Makoto froze—

But only for a moment. It was as though Haru had spoken pure nonsense; his brain refused to parse it, deciding instead to focus on the most mundane interpretation possible.

“Yeah?”

There was another silence. He shot a glance at Haru, and in that moment saw him staring fixedly into his lap, his mouth drawn into a tight line. He couldn’t see Haru’s hands on his knees but judging from the tension in his arms, he must have been squeezing them quite tightly.

“ _Makoto…_ ”

Makoto didn’t falter. “What is it?”

Haru was so still, he could have been carved out of wood. Finally, he sighed.

“…I’m gonna go for a swim. I’ll see you back at the dorm.”

“Huh? Oh… of course.”

He stood up, helping Haru to pack his things away and to tidy up the books and notes strewn across the library table. And then, as Haru got up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, Makoto found his voice again.

“Hey… Haru?”

Haru turned, giving him a quizzical look.

“…Thanks for helping me study.”

There was that little smile again; the one that made Makoto’s knees go weak. Makoto stared at it greedily, as though there was a chance it might escape otherwise.

“Sure.” He waved a little as he left.

Once he was gone, Makoto sank back into his chair, sinking so low that he was half-disappearing below the table. He stared at his notes, but couldn’t seem to read a word. He thought it was a good thing he was in the library, because otherwise he might have given in to the crazy urge he was suddenly experiencing to run around in circles and yell at the top of his lungs.

Part of him wanted to do just that. The other part of him wanted to shake Haru, or maybe even raise his voice at him a little—not that he would ever have done such a thing. Because if he didn’t know better, if he wasn’t wiser, he would’ve taken that as a confession. It even felt like one, in the moment; damn near stopped his heart…

But there was no way, not a snowball’s chance in hell, that that was what he hoped it was.

Honestly, it just hurt.

Not to beat a dead horse, but he’d been head over heels for Haru for as long as he could remember. Maybe even longer, though obviously, by definition, he wouldn’t have remembered it.

In a lot of ways, he sympathized with the girls who approached Haru. Because frankly speaking, he could see the appeal. Haru was incredibly talented, not just in swimming, but a host of other things. And he was also—at least in Makoto’s estimation—devastatingly handsome.

Then there was his cool, detached attitude, which Makoto figured was probably like catnip for women. (Yeah, he had it bad, in case you hadn’t noticed.)

On top of that, there were all the sides of Haru that those girls _didn’t_ know, but which Makoto was intimately familiar with. How kind he could be when no one was watching; the adoring smile he wore when he played video games with Ren and Ran. How easily he’d drift off to sleep whenever Makoto put a movie on in the evening, and the gentle tickle of his breath against Makoto’s ear…

It wasn’t right, the way he wanted to keep all these things to himself. After all, it wasn’t as if it was like _that_ between them.

And that was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

In the end, Makoto accepted that it was something he just had to get over on his own. Maybe it would even have helped if Haru hooked up with one of the many girls who were waiting in his line, although Makoto had his doubts. The theory may have been sound, but the idea of having it put into practice promised nothing but heartbreak.

All the same, maybe the mixer wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

He was a little ashamed to admit that he’d basically given Asahi the idea in the first place. It hadn’t even been an explicit suggestion; more of a vague complaint about the abysmal state of his love life that Asahi had taken to mean that Makoto wished to make more lady friends. (The fact that Asahi had been off the mark with his sexual orientation was more or less beside the point. Makoto was no ingrate; he could appreciate the sentiment.)

Sitting there in his library chair with his head in his hands, Makoto decided that he’d go, and give it his best shot. After all, what did he have to lose, if he’d never had anything in the first place?

That’s how easily the decision was made, and he could only hope he wouldn’t regret it.

*

Unfortunately for Makoto, all the optimism and good intentions in the world couldn’t save him from his self-inflicted problems. He felt no better about his predicament while seated on a couch in a karaoke booth, sandwiched between two young ladies, than he would have if he’d just stayed at home. (For some reason he found himself thinking of Asahi’s hypothetical “red-blooded young man”, and cringed a little internally.)

Nor did it help to have Haru seated on the couch perpendicular to his, accompanied by a couple of girls of his own. Asahi, who was annoyingly conscientious only when it came to stuff like this, had made sure to get an even spread of genders around the room, in order to make sure they were getting what he insisted on calling the “authentic mixer experience”.

Well, Makoto thought wryly, every mixer he’d ever been to had been as awkward as this one, so if that was part of the authentic experience they were off to a great start. He shifted uncomfortably and then cast a glance at Haru, who looked every bit as discomfited as Makoto felt. For a moment Makoto was amused, and then immediately felt guilty for feeling that way.

At any rate, he was shortly distracted from any further thoughts of Haru by Saya, the girl who was seated to his left. She caught his eye and smiled nervously; Makoto quickly tried to look as though he hadn’t just goggling over his male best friend.

“Um… Makoto-kun, was it?” She raised her voice a little to be heard over the warbling over the pair who were currently monopolizing the microphones. “So, what do you study?”

“Oh, I’m majoring in sports medicine,” he said, and even managed to smile in a way that was largely genuine. “How about you?”

“Oh, that’s really cool!” She beamed at him, and he suddenly noticed that she had on a very pretty shade of lip gloss. (He tried not to imagine Haru wearing it.) “I’m doing economics, but I’m not really sure if it’s what I want to do long-term… I guess that’s kind of a cliche, huh?”

“I guess,” Makoto chuckled. As was usually the case whenever they were in the same room, he found his gaze drawn back to Haru, who at that moment was in the process of gnawing dubiously on a chicken wing. His expression seemed to suggest that he would have much preferred to be eating the chicken of the sea; coupled with the grease smeared across his mouth, the overall effect was quite endearing. Makoto stifled a chuckle, and reached into his pocket for some tissues.

“Here you go, Haru-chan.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Haru said automatically, as he accepted the tissues, using them to wipe his mouth clean. The girls situated around them observed this little exchange without interruption, although he noticed a couple of them exchanging slightly puzzled glances, for some reason.

Belatedly, he recalled that he had been in the middle of a conversation, and returned his attention to Saya. Once again, she gave him a smile, although somehow this one seemed a little less warm, and a little more curious.

“You two seem pretty close. Did you get to know each other in college?”

“Oh, no, we’ve known each other for a long time,” Makoto said brightly. He was trying—but failing— to tune out the conversation occurring off to his side, which was proceeding along these lines:

_“What’s your type, Haruka-kun?”_

“I don’t have one.”

_“Oh, don’t say that! Everyone has a type.”_

“But I don’t.”

—and so it continued, on and on and interspersed with lots of giggling, to the point where surely anyone would have gotten sick of hearing the same monotonous answer over and over again.

Unless, it occurred to Makoto, you thought Haru was playing hard to get.

Which was ridiculous, of course, because Haru would never do that.

(Would he?)

He heard Saya clear her throat, and his gaze snapped back to her face.

“Oh—sorry,” he said, preemptively guilty. “There’s just so much going on, it’s a little hard to focus… that’s why I usually prefer smaller gatherings.”

“Oh, me too!” She sounded relieved. “I came along this time just for a change of pace, but… it’s a bit chaotic, isn’t it?”

Makoto nodded sympathetically. “Definitely.” He was glad to have found something that they could connect over that didn’t require him to engage his higher order thinking skills, because his attention kept being pulled back to the conversation that Haru was trapped in. Undaunted by his reticence, the girls were now listing various types for him to choose from (“gal” and “pure” being just two of the many available options), and despite everything, even Makoto had to admit that he was a little curious as to what Haru might pick.

Finally, they appeared to achieve a breakthrough. “Fine,” said Haru reluctantly, and to the casual observer he might have sounded too overtly annoyed, but Makoto knew him well enough to tell the difference. He looked down, and said, in a voice that was barely audible over all the ruckus, “Maybe the childhood friend type, then.”

All of a sudden, Saya seemed to have been transported very far away; her voice was muffled, as though someone had stuffed Makoto’s ears full of cotton wool. The scene of the mixer itself seemed to fade into shades of grey, everything cast into shadow, and all that was left was a spotlight on Haru and a spotlight on him, seated diagonally across from each other, with the words _childhood friend_ ringing obnoxiously in his ears.

Nothing made sense. He breathed out, once, slowly—and then time sped back up, flinging him unceremoniously back into reality, with all of its colors and sound and brightness. His heart was going crazy; it was thumping so loud he half imagined that others around him could hear it.

That would be ridiculous, of course, he told himself, staring down at his lap as his face began to burn. It had nothing to do with him at all.

“Makoto-kun?” It was Saya again. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It took effort, but he managed to force out the lie. “I think… I just need some air. Is it just me or is it stuffy in here? Haha.”

Once again, she favored him with that slightly curious look. “Maybe a little,” she said, slowly. “Would you like me to move so you can step outside?”

“Yes, thank you.” Gratefully, he lurched to his feet and slipped past her, excusing himself from the room. As always, he noticed Haru’s reaction before anyone else’s, and for a moment it almost seemed as though Haru wanted to call out to him.

But then the moment passed, and Makoto turned away, escaping the noise for the relative peace of the hallway beyond. It was cooler outside, lit by amber ceiling lamps that dazzled his eyes a little after the concentrated dark of the karaoke room. He began to regulate his breathing like someone trying to ward off a panic attack, leaning back against a wall and massaging his temples rhythmically.

It was there that Kisumi found him, a few minutes later. By that time, fortunately, his heart rate had returned to normal.

“Tired already?” Kisumi asked.

Makoto glanced up, and gave him a weak smile.

“Sort of.” He hesitated a moment, then soldiered on, bravely. “Say, have you ever… have you ever felt like someone was leading you on, a little bit?”

“Hm? Oh. Oh my.” Kisumi’s face lit up, like a child’s on Christmas morning. “You’ve never mentioned anything like that before, Makoto. But—who’s the lucky girl, then?”

Immediately, Makoto decided that mentioning it had been a mistake. “Never mind,” he said quickly, and just about had the grace to grin as Kisumi pouted at him.

“It’s no fun without the juicy details, you know.” Kisumi sighed. “Well, anyway, I think the plan is to head to the arcade after this. We won’t all need to stick together, so it might be a bit more pleasant.” He looked at Makoto. “Do you think you’ll come along?”

Sad as it was, Makoto’s first thought was of Haru—it was a habit he just couldn’t seem to break. “Maybe,” he said after a moment, deciding to hedge his bets. (After all, he hadn’t asked Haru if he was coming yet, so how would he know?)

If Kisumi noticed his hesitation, he didn’t bother mentioning it. “Okay. See you later, then.” He flashed his usual sunny smile. “But don’t spend too long alone out here, okay? I’m guessing those girls are waiting for your return.”

Makoto suppressed a sigh. There was no guessing about it, really; too long of an absence was rude, no matter how you sliced it. “Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled. Then added, “Hey—Kisumi?”

“Mmhm?”

“…I’ll tell you about it someday.”

As they turned to head back inside, Kisumi smiled at him.

“I’ll remember you said that.”

*

A fair bit more time passed before the karaoke party finally wound down, but—in Makoto’s opinion—not a moment too soon. He was quite relieved to finally find himself back outside, trailing the loose gaggle of the group down the street in the general direction of the arcade. At least in the time that had remained, he’d managed to get a decent conversation in; Saya was funny and well-read, and talking to her was pleasant enough.

Of course, this had all been done in-between his compulsively keeping tabs on what Haru was up to… though to be fair, the answer to this question was: not very much, apart from being harangued by thirsty women.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about it, so when she happened to excuse herself for a moment to talk to someone else, Makoto seized his chance. He slid up beside Haru, who had himself been left alone, maybe because his hangers-on had retreated temporarily to formulate a new plan of attack.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, brightly, although he already had some guesses as to what the answer would be.

Haru gave him a forlorn look. “I want to go home,” he said, and Makoto felt himself responding to that, borderline involuntarily. He coughed, quickly reining himself back in. _Friends,_ he reminded himself fiercely. _Friends._

He smiled in a way that he hoped would provide comfort. “Let’s stick it out to the end,” he suggested. “I’ll walk home with you afterwards, okay? We can get something to eat.”

Haru looked as though his suffering was so great that he couldn’t decide whether that deal was worth it; in the end, he just shrugged and sighed quite silently, which Makoto took for what it was worth.

At that moment, Saya returned, taking Makoto by the arm and, incidentally, cutting their conversation short. To Makoto’s surprise, they had already reached the arcade, which promised just as much noise and annoying flashing lights as the karaoke booth had—though, to be fair, probably considerably less bad singing.

“Hey, Makoto-kun, come with me for a second—there’s something I want to show you!”

“Oh… sure,” said Makoto, with an awkward glance back towards Haru. “See you later, Haru.”

Haru only grunted in response, and so Makoto allowed himself to be led away, back into the depths of the arcade. After weaving through various other consoles and through the darkened crowd, they ended up in front of a claw machine, which had on display in its prize section a selection of soft, fuzzy phone charms. Saya let go of his arm, and pointed.

“I wanted to show you this one, Makoto-kun!”

Makoto obediently leaned closer to take a look, and his eyes landed on a charm of a sleepy tortoiseshell cat, curled into a kitty loaf.

“Isn’t it adorable?” she gushed.

Makoto swallowed. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t a sucker for cute things, and this… this was _cute_. Through the glass, she met his eyes. “Are you any good at these games?” she asked.

Makoto squinted a little. He might not have had that much (or any) relationship experience, but even he knew what was expected of him, at moments like these. “Not at all,” he admitted freely, “but I’m willing to try.”

After all, he reasoned, how difficult could it be?

*

Many, many 100-yen coins later, he was beginning to question the wisdom of his assumption. His last attempt had moved the desired phone charm about a millimeter, tops, and when he sighed, once again opening the coin pouch section of his wallet, he was mortified to discover that it was completely empty.

“Oh…” said Saya, over his shoulder. She looked utterly dejected, but smiled anyway. “It’s okay, Makoto-kun. Thank you so much for trying—I think you got it much closer than I would’ve, anyway.”

Makoto, however, was not the sort of person who liked to disappoint others. He thought for a moment. “I’ll go get some more coins,” he decided, with a smile. “Why don’t you go hang out with the others for a bit, if you’re getting bored? I’ll just give it a couple more tries.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to…” For a moment, she looked longingly again at the phone charm, which remained stubbornly behind the glass. “But… weeeell… if you want to, I guess.” She laughed. “Good luck, if you do go for it again.”

“Yeah.” He smiled back.

And so that was where Haru found him—crouched in front of a crane game machine, staring down his target as though a phone charm might be vulnerable to intimidation. Blinking, he came up alongside Makoto, and stared curiously between his friend and the elusive item which lay behind the glass.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get that thing out for Saya-chan.” He popped another coin into the machine, fiddled with the controls, and then gestured, optimistically. “Look, I’ve almost got it—oh no, not again…”

He sighed, reaching for his wallet, but was stopped when Haru took his hand. The warmth of Haru’s fingers nearly startled him into dropping his wallet entirely; he just barely managed to keep his grip on it.

He looked up. Haru was watching him with cool, unreadable eyes.

“Haru-chan…?” he murmured. All of a sudden, his throat felt very dry.

Haru said nothing. Instead, after a moment, he let go, and then stepped around the machine, looking through the glass from a few angles. Then he pulled out his own wallet, extracting three 100-yen coins, and placing them on the machine’s dash.

Then he got to work. Within a few minutes, the phone charm had landed with a ‘clunk’ at the bottom of the prize chute, and Haru was reaching in to pull it out before depositing it in Makoto’s outstretched palms.

Makoto was awed.

“Haru, how did you _do_ that?”

Haru, being Haru, was as modest as ever. “It was nothing.”

Still, Makoto beamed at him. “It’s amazing… You really _are_ good at everything, Haru-chan.”

For just a moment, Haru’s expression twisted into something complicated, something that almost looked painful. Then, in a barely audible mutter:

“Not everything.”

Makoto blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” Haru turned away. “Give that to her and say it’s from you.”

“Hey, Haru, wait—”

But Haru didn’t. He walked off without looking back, which left Makoto staring after him, holding the phone charm in his palm like some kind of consolation prize. He looked down to stare at it, and then frowned, closing his fingers around the fuzzy object. He wasn’t sure what he could do about it, but… something didn’t feel right. And even if he couldn’t fix anything, he was still determined to try.

*

It took a surprising amount of time for him to locate Saya again—it was amazing to Makoto just how many people there could be, all milling around in a single place. He finally managed to spot her near the entrance nearly fifteen minutes after he’d started looking for her. She was with the girl he remembered had been sitting on the other side of him on the couch—Tomoe, he remembered belatedly. It was a good thing he’d spotted her, too, because it looked as though she was about to leave.

“Saya-san!” He jogged up beside them.

“Makoto-kun?” Confused, she looked round, but lit up when she saw what he held in his hand. “Oh my gosh, you actually got it!” She accepted it from him with delight, turning to show her friend. “Look, Tomo-chan—isn’t it the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

The other girl looked dutifully at the little cat-shaped charm, and then gave a stoic nod. (For some reason, Makoto was reminded strongly of someone—he shrugged the feeling off.)

Meanwhile, Saya had turned back to him, favoring him with a brilliant smile. “Thank you so much, Makoto-kun. I’ve wanted one ever since I saw it a few weeks ago, but I’m just rubbish at those games…”

“Oh… of course.” Makoto tried not to look too awkward. “I just… um…” Strangely, all of a sudden he had no idea what to say to her. It wasn’t as if he’d done it for any particular reason, or because he expected something in return. He knew very well how these things were _supposed_ to go, and knew just as surely that he wasn’t interested in that one bit.

In the end, honesty seemed like the best policy. “I just felt like doing something nice for someone,” he said, with a quiet shrug.

She looked at him them, knowingly, and he had the oddest feeling that some kind of understanding had passed between them. But not at all in a bad way; in fact, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Well… thank you again. It really _was_ a nice thing to do.” She tilted her head, linking arms with her friend. “We were about to head to the station—would you like to join us?”

Makoto paused. “Oh, um—actually… I think I’m gonna wait for someone.” He smiled, apologetically.

She nodded. “Mmm… I thought you might say that.” She smiled back. “Maybe next time, then.” They turned to leave, but then, as though suddenly remembering something, she looked back over her shoulder. “Wait, before I forget…”

“Yes?”

She winked at him. “Good luck.”

And before he’d had time to react, they were out the door and off down the street.

How odd. Makoto wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but decided not to worry about it. Besides, he thought, everyone could probably use a little luck, even if they didn’t know exactly what it was for.

It wasn’t half as hard to locate Haru as it had been to find Saya, thanks to the size of the entourage tailing him. All Makoto had to do was look for a gaggle of girls who were giggling and batting their eyelashes flirtatiously to find Haru at the center of it, looking extremely harassed.

Haru spotted Makoto’s approach through the crowd of admirers and made a vague gesture towards him, desperation in his eyes. Seeing this, Makoto decided to take pity on him.

“I was thinking of heading out soon,” he called out cheerfully, over the heads of a couple of girls. “Do you want to come too?”

Makoto had never seen anyone say ‘yes’ so clearly with just their eyes before. He chuckled. “Okay, then.” More loudly, he said, “Sorry, everyone! Haru has a prior appointment he has to make, so we’re going to be leaving now…”

There were an assortment of groans and complaints from around them, which Makoto fended off with his best apologetic smile. Shielding Haru from the crowd like some kind of makeshift bodyguard, he ushered them towards the exit. It crossed his mind briefly that perhaps they ought to say goodbye to Asahi, but given how scattered the group had become, he decided it probably wasn’t worth the trouble. Continuing to shepherd Haru along, they weaved their way past consoles and crowds until at last they could step out into the fresh air and freedom.

It was a relief to be away from the beeping and jangling of dozens of manic machines, and for a while, they simply walked together in a companionable silence. Makoto’s thoughts were fragmented, all over the place; he couldn’t seem to stop them from wandering into places he most wanted to avoid. At last, in an effort to quiet his agitated mind, he spoke.

“Haru.”

“Hm?”

“…Thanks for helping me with the crane game.”

“Sure.” He paused, then added, “—I’m glad you could give it to her.”

At that, Makoto hesitated.

“Um… well…”

He stopped walking, and Haru looked round at him curiously. After a moment or two, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out the very same phone charm that Haru had given to him.

Haru stared at it, uncomprehending.

“You didn’t give it to her?”

“Uhm… well, I did. Another one, I mean.” Makoto laughed a little, scratching his chin with a finger. “I got help from one of the employees after you left. He gave me some advice, and, you know, nudged it a little bit so it was easier to get. And then I managed it.” Then he smiled. “I had to change some more money, though, since I ran out of coins…”

Puzzled, Haru flicked his gaze back up to Makoto’s face. “But…”

Tucking the charm back into his pocket, Makoto looked away. He smiled at no one in particular. “Well… you know…” He twiddled his fingers. “It was something you got for me. So I guess I just… didn’t really want to give it to anyone else.”

They resumed walking, and passed several more meters in silence. But it wasn’t that kind of comfortable quiet that Makoto was used to between them; there was something else lingering beneath its surface. It was like an itch, something creeping along the skin that he couldn’t quite scratch, and soon enough it compelled him to try to find something to say that might dispel the awkward atmosphere. He wasn’t sure he liked feeling this way; like he had to keep talking to fill the silences that used to be his comfort, but at the same time, he didn’t know what else he could do.

“So… how was your first mixer experience?”

Haru shrugged. “It was fine.”

He didn’t sound terribly enthused, but Makoto figured that was probably the best they could have hoped for. He laughed. “Yeah, I guess it’s not really your kind of thing, huh? But… it looked like you got along with them pretty well.” As he spoke, he looked down at his feet, watching himself take each step—like he could have walked away from himself entirely, and become someone else. The words, when they came out of him, felt foreign, like he was reading from a script. “When I saw that, I kinda thought… wow, Haru-chan is so popular, he doesn’t even need me around!”

It was meant to be a joke, but somehow, his laugh didn’t come out sounding quite right. Haru didn’t laugh, either; instead, he stopped walking, which forced Makoto to stop too.

“Haru-chan…?”

“Don’t say that,” said Haru quietly.

“Oh, sorry—it’s just, you know, a habit—”

“Not the name.” Haru sounded a little like he was gritting his teeth. “The other thing. About not needing you. Don’t… don’t say that.”

Makoto’s heart began to beat a little faster.

“I was just kidding…”

Quite suddenly, Haru seized his wrist. Makoto jumped and tried to take a step backwards, although he couldn’t go very far with Haru holding on to him like that.

“Makoto. Look at me,” said Haru, and his eyes were piercing, utterly serious; Makoto found himself transfixed. He took a deep breath, and then said slowly, “I do need you. Okay? I always have. And I always will.”

If not for the frantic fluttering of Makoto’s heart, you could have heard a pin drop. Feeling slightly faint, Makoto swallowed.

“—okay,” he answered, very softly.

Then, and only then, did Haru let go of his wrist, looking satisfied.

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” he said, returning smoothly to his usual matter-of-fact tone of voice. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks.”

Now this revelation was too shocking for Makoto to have time to feel embarrassed about it. “ _Weeks?_ What do you mean, _weeks?_ Haru, you mean you’ve—about _me_ —”

“No,” said Haru, apparently answering an entirely different question. “I’ve always felt this way. But you didn’t seem interested in dating, so I never said anything.” He paused, looking thoughtfully at the sky. He spoke in a measured voice, and seemed so ridiculously calm that it stood in stark contrast to Makoto’s nerves, the palpitations of his heart. “But then… Asahi told me you wanted to meet someone new. And _I_ thought, what was the point of that when you already have me? But then I had to figure out how to tell you properly.”

As he spoke, Makoto grew redder and redder, and by the time he’d reached the end of what he had to say, even Makoto was beginning to see the funny side of things. At least, he couldn’t seem to keep the smile off his face. He swallowed again, and then leaned in a little, teasing. “Do you think you’ve succeeded?”

Haru looked at him, quite seriously. “You’re right. I forgot something.”

He took a step closer, and then stood on his tiptoes, brushing dry lips against Makoto’s own. It lasted barely a moment, but all the same, the sensation left him reeling; Makoto gasped, and his hand shot up to his mouth, fingers brushing his lips gently as though to seal the feeling of Haru’s kiss there.

He gawped, and Haru stared back at him, coolly. There was a tiny little quirk at the corners of his mouth that Makoto knew was a smile.

“There,” said Haru, with more finality. “I think I managed to say it properly.”

Makoto blinked a few times, and then felt the smile that had been erased by shock creeping back onto his face. “I’m not so sure,” he murmured. “I think… maybe you should tell me a few more times…?”

So, Haru did.

 

 

 


End file.
